


Artists Palette

by LadyTypo



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTypo/pseuds/LadyTypo
Summary: Perylene RedCadmium YellowDioxazine PurpleAlizarin CrimsonPhthalo BlueThe oil paints bled down the canvas of burnt umber, bleeding into Yusuke's palette of greys.(Or, Yusuke develops bonds of friendship with his team, with eventual ShuKita~)





	Artists Palette

**Author's Note:**

> _It has been_
> 
> _8,000 years_
> 
> /cries/
> 
> Hi hi!~ I fell down a hole of oil paints and this is where I landed o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

There were moments where Yusuke craved the mundane.

Where he craved the sensation of time going by, too slowly with nothing to do.

Where he craved silence and the soft hum of life outside his windows. 

Where he craved anything other than the hellish nightmare he had slowly become accustomed to since he was a child. A nightmare that the young artist had quickly and ignorantly passed off as a ‘normal’ life.

_Wait, wait, wait._

_Deep breath._

His world wasn’t so different from others, Yusuke would try to convince himself while out and about on short errands. It was fine. It was ‘normal’. There were others in the world who experienced the same things, who endured the venomous words and cruel, verbal mistreatment. Others who faced the same threat of no longer having a roof over their heads and a bed to sleep in at night because they couldn’t perform a simple task they were given.

It was tough love, right?

It was pushing him to his full potential.

It was normal.

Right?

_Right?_

He shook the thoughts out of his head. Now wasn’t the time to be pondering the moral gray area of his life. A list of supplies had been given to him and there was very little time to collect them all. 

A few new brushes and a replenishment of oil paints. Simple enough.

_Asphaltum_

_Chromatic Black_

_Phthalo Turquoise_

_Black Spinel_

_Dark, dark, so dark. Like the night sky full of clouds, the stars desperately trying to peek through. Like the state of his life, reality as he knew it. Like the lake at Inokashira Park on the nights he couldn’t sleep, water void of all of its lively blue and green hues._

_Dark, dark, dark._

_It was so dark, if he just stepped into the water, maybe-_

A soft gasp left Yusuke’s lips as a blaring car horn snapped him back out of his thoughts. A group of teens shrieked as they ran across the crosswalk parallel from him, the man in the car stopped at a green light yelling angrily.

To be so bold, to be so reckless, to have no regard for the environment around them. Yusuke couldn’t help but scrunch his brow in distaste before carrying on his errand, but deep down, dark, envious feelings, the color of terre verte, screamed for that freedom.

——-

“Sloppy! Do it again, Yusuke!”

The young artist winced at the sharp words from his teacher. Madarame wasn’t exactly _loud_, but the disdain and displeasure in his voice were always apparent when students slipped up in their work.

It wasn’t so _bad_, Yusuke always tried to convince himself, prepping the roll of fine sandpaper he kept next to his easel for these occasions. It was just constructive criticism, a push towards perfection. Madarame had high expectations for him, for all of his students. He saw they were all capable, full of potential and was firmly nurturing them all for success, that’s_ all_ it was. 

_It wasn’t so bad._

_Scratch away the pain and start again._

Dried flakes of cerulean blue and titanium white fell to the ground, the smooth scraping of sandpaper against dried, textured paint filling the students’ workspace. There was always a sense of loss Yusuke felt during this process, like the part of his soul he had placed into his work was what was being scraped away, its fate to be washed over and erased away with heavy, titanium white paint.

Yusuke glanced up at the sound of Madarame berating another student, gentle venom and passively aggressive critique. He could see tears in the corners of her eyes, but it was nothing new. _‘Creativity and inspiration freely escaping one’s body’_, Madarame called it once. 

It sounded like a load of crap, but it felt better having an excuse, something to call the feeling, than to suffer with the feeling of hot anger in one’s stomach.

_Rebel, rebel, rebel._

_Hot anger spurs the fires of rebellion._

Returning to his sanded canvas, armed with a large, flat brush, Yusuke began to mix colors on a well used glass palette, the _‘creativity’_ and _‘inspiration’_ his teacher ignited in them all settling angrily in his chest. 

Poised to attack, he struck the canvas with his weapon, his spark of rebellion reflected in the streak of angry napthol scarlet erasing his rejected shard of soul.

——-

Betrayal felt a lot less painful than he thought it would.

With everything Madarame had done for him - taken him and his mother in, raised him as family, took him under his wing and taught him everything he knew about art - the old con’s words didn’t quite break his heart as much as he thought they would.

It ignited anger in him, _yes_. An anger so primal and deep, the anger of a child who desperately wanted his mother back, who wanted his childhood back. The anger of a child who craved freedom.

But the most Yusuke felt when the shadow of the old man mocked him, berated and insulted him for his naivety and trust in him, was anger and disgust. Anger that he allowed himself to be treated this way for so long, that his mother was left to die due to a selfish scheme, and disgust in both the old man and himself, for the ignorance and blind faith he had shown all these years in Madarame. Disgusted in himself that these strangers who came to his aid, who knew him for only a short amount of time, could see and accept the truth before he could ever accept it.

_Ignorance be damned! Be damned and boil in the fire of rebellion!_

His nails raked the ground, fingertips bleeding as he found his resolve to face Madarame, the man who left his mother to die, the man who promised him a golden ochre world only to let it rust away and drown in burnt umber.

The next thing he knew, he was revived and back on his feet, Goemon, his ally towards freedom, at his back.

Yusuke couldn’t remember much of the battle; it was all such an adrenaline-induced blur that by the end of it all, he felt faint. 

What he did remember was the sensation of his first true rush of freedom, the colors bleeding back into his palette of grays.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Yusuke, little art angel deserves to be happy (｡T ω T｡)
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ I'd love to hear y'alls thoughts! (⁀ᗢ⁀)


End file.
